Lost Between The Moon and New York City
by andersonblaines
Summary: They are two halves of a damaged whole, scarred from the past, the present, the threat of the future. They are broken individually, but together, they are more complete than the entire universe.


It's a cold winter night. The sun is slowly descending past the horizon and the moon is out in a nearly perfect circle; there are glistening icicles suspended on the bare branches past his bedroom window. Blaine stops and stares with longing tugging at his heartstrings.

It's 2022, and Kurt and Blaine have been married for seven years and three months. They're living happily in an apartment on the Upper East Side, able to talk long, meandering strolls though the tourist-abundant Central Park without any need for transport. (Except on the way back. Sometimes when they're both exhausted, they'll hail a taxi or jump on the subway.)

It's a perfect place to walk their Bernese Mountain Dog, Chewbacca. Or Chewy, for short. The name was already given when they bought him, but the need for change was not necessary. Kurt would never tell you, but he thinks it's kind of cute. (Blaine teases him about this mercilessly.)

Blaine is, tonight, a very unhappy man. He and Kurt had an awful argument yesterday and Kurt's not come back home. Blaine's always struggled with crippling loneliness and paranoia, and he's unfathomably worried about his husband's whereabouts. There has been no contact since yesterday evening, and he knows that Rachel's not in. (A holiday in the Bahamas with her new beau.) There are only so many places that Kurt could be and every single attempt to reach him has been thwarted by an annoying lack of communication.

The thing is, the argument didn't even start over anything serious. They were both exhausted, stressed out, and completely and utterly not in the right frames of mind to have a discussion about who's spending too much time at work. It was wrong and backwards and Blaine didn't sleep a wink last night in fear. He cannot lose Kurt, he really really really can't.

With barely any energy and shaking hands (blood sugar is low), he sips from his coffee (must stay awake in case something is wrong), cuddles up to Chewy (I am _not _alone, I refuse to feel isolated), and hopes with everything he owns, every single thing that he's ever done, that Kurt comes home soon. He can't bear to feel like this. It's slowly drowning him.

* * *

Three minutes past ten and the door to their apartment swings open. Behind it is Kurt, looking wearier than Blaine thinks he's ever seen him. (But he's home. He's never looked more perfect.) Blaine is staring into oblivion, eyes stinging from how tired he is. Kurt walks towards him, dropping his bag on the floor as he goes. Chewy runs over to him, looking up expectantly. Kurt reaches down and rubs him between the ears, the movement half-hearted and barely there. (He's exactly as tired as I am.)

Blaine's leg is shaking terribly quickly from the ridiculous levels of fear he's currently experiencing. Kurt comes and sits on his lap, his leg forced to still. In a second, he's putting his hands in Blaine's hair (God, that feels good), and pulls their faces together, lips slotting together in inimitable harmony. The kiss is slow and long, neither of them wanting to stop. (Stopping means facing reality and that could mean anything.) The need for oxygen becomes too much, and the sudden realization that Blaine is still entirely clueless about where Kurt has been hits him like a freight train. (Or a rock salt slushie to the eye.)

"Kurt," Blaine breathes, his oxygen intake too fast and shallow. (The world's doubling before his eyes and he can't, can't, can't-)

"Jesus Blaine, breathe!" Kurt's stroking his forearms and looking deep into his eyes and this is not what should be happening. He grabs onto Blaine's upper arms and holds his hands there, his face so close that Blaine can count every faded freckle, all the merging shades and flecks displayed in his irises. "Listen to me, Blaine. I'm here now, I'm right here, and I swear to you I am not going anywhere, not anywhere unless you're with me." Kurt squeezes his biceps, runs his fingers up and down slightly. "I love you, I love you and you need to breathe for me, _please_."

Kurt's desperate and shaking, his husband falling victim to his existential fear of being alone. (It's like a stab wound, the knowledge that this is his fault.)

By the end of it all (when he can respire like a normal human being), Blaine's even more exhausted than before, if that's even possible. He tries to smile at Kurt, but it's too much effort and all his husband gets is a weak and watery grimace.

"Are you okay now?" Kurt asks, blinking too quickly, hands too tight around Blaine's arms. (It's grounding.)

"Mm," Blaine replies. "Yeah." In one movement (he's desperate for contact), he wraps his arms around Kurt's shoulders, nestling his head into the joint between neck and shoulder. Within seconds, Kurt's gripping him in return, breathing in unison and being altogether connected again.

"I'm sorry," Kurt whispers. (He's terrified too.) (We always were too similar.) "I'm so, so sorry for leaving you alone all this time. I know what it does to you and I really shouldn't have done that."

There's an immeasurable silence which stretches on for a distance so long that it could wrap itself around the moon five times over.

"Kurt?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't leave me again." It's hushed and raw, laced with a million things he can't voice. (Like how the prospect of being without Kurt makes him want to stop breathing.)

"Never, I promise."

* * *

They move into the bedroom, hands curled together and fingers encased in each other's. The night passes by, the sun rising to replace the bad tales the moon has spun.

It's brightness and darkness all at once, and it's the joining of two people who were always destined to be. They are two halves of a damaged whole, scarred from the past, the present, the threat of the future. They are broken individually, but together, they are more complete than the entire universe.


End file.
